


The One With The Bard

by Bhujerban



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: #thirsty-and-in-denial-Zelda, F/M, Pre-Calamity (Legend of Zelda), jealous!Link, thirsty!Zelda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:14:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26051707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bhujerban/pseuds/Bhujerban
Summary: It's not like Zelda enjoys having her infuriating, loyal,handsomeknight attendant at her side at all times. Really, it's not. Can't a girl enjoy a song by the court poet in peace?Or, Zelda is thirsty and in denial about it.BoTW ZeLink. Oneshot.
Relationships: Link/Zelda (Legend of Zelda)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 244





	The One With The Bard

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you that don't follow me on [Tumblr](http://bhujerbanwrites.tumblr.com/), here's my short fic for the Thirsty-and-in-Denial-Zelda prompt by Intangibly_Yours —which is exactly what it sounds like. [You can read more about it here!](https://intangiblyyourswrites.tumblr.com/post/626843880021737472/thirsty-and-in-denial-zelda)
> 
> Timeline-wise this is set pre-Blades of the Yiga, but you can read it however you'd like. Thanks to Jenseit-der-Sterne and dontwaitupxx for reading this over for me.
> 
> I present thirsty!Zelda, jealous!Link, and three lines of poetry written in iambic pentameter.

Zelda rarely gets days off. Between studying the newly excavated Guardians with the Sheikah and her father’s constant reminders about prayers, she has nearly no time to herself. Ever since that wretched boy showed up with the Sword That Seals the Darkness strapped to his back, she has had no peace.

Who does he even think he is? Prancing in with a shiny sword and no explanation. But _oh_ does the court fall to their knees to worship him.

“Did you hear?” they whisper. “His father was a knight of the royal guard. He was born a swordsman.”

“How about that boy!” they exclaim. “I heard he took down three knights in a practice brawl at the age of six. What a boon it is to have him on our side.”

“Such loyalty,” they fawn, “always by the Princess’s side without complaint, no matter where her strange sensibilities would take them.”

Zelda chafes at their comments. It’s not like she _wants_ to be reminded of everything that he is and she isn’t. It’s not like she _wants_ him to follow her everywhere. _It’s not like she has a choice_.

She doesn’t choose to have him five steps behind her at any given time. She doesn’t choose to have his eyes alert on her every time they leave the castle. She doesn’t choose to hold his hand when she lowers herself off her horse.

Well…maybe she chooses the last one a little bit. But it can hardly be helped when he looks at her with those piercing blue eyes, hand extended, her picture perfect knight. She can hardly say no to that now, could she?

At any rate, she doesn’t need him here _now_ , on the one day she is finally granted to herself. 

She tells him so.

“I’m afraid I must remain by your side, Princess,” he says, his face infuriatingly neutral.

She bites back a scowl, it wouldn’t do to show her perfect knight such an uncharitable expression. Not when he’s standing here in front of her in his dove grey tunic, his hair pulled back, his features handsome and aristocratic, looking for all the world like some Hylian noble. _Who does he think he is?_

 _Besides,_ she thinks, half petulantly, _the grey is awful on him and does nothing for his complexion._

“I assure you, Sir Link, that I am perfectly safe here, in my royal seat, in the royal libraries, in the royal castle, surrounded by royal guards,” she says snippily. “I can hardly fathom a safer place in all of Hyrule.”

He only shakes his head.

Zelda gives in to her frown and tries again, “Sir Link. I am giving you the day off. Besides,” she gestures at the man seated across from her, “I’m not going to be alone.”

Link’s eyes flicker over to the man. His expression tightens minutely. “All the same, Princess.”

“Kayou isn’t just a court poet, Sir Link,” Zelda points out. “He’s Sheikah-trained and more than capable in protecting me from pointy quills or falling books.”

Link doesn’t respond.

Zelda sighs and says sarcastically, “Very well, if you insist, you can sit with us while we participate in dangerous activities such as discussing the merits of iambic verse.”

“I’ll take my post, Princess.”

She watches as Link retreats to a spot by the door. The cut of the tunic emphasizes the strong set of his shoulders and the taper of his waist. The royal guard pants fit snugly on him, following the curve of his bottom and stretching slightly over his thighs. _Horseback riding_ , she thinks, _that’s probably how his legs got so strong._ She leans back a little to watch him go.

“Ah, Your Highness,” a voice cuts in and she jolts to attention. _Goddesses, what was she doing?_

“Y-yes, Kayou.” She turns her focus to the Sheikah court poet in front of her. “You mentioned that you wrote a new song?”

The poet smiles, his expression warm. There is something familiar about the look in his eye and, absurdly, she thinks of Link, watching her as she rambled on about the properties of Hyrule Herb. _Strange._

Kayou straightens and says, “Yes, after our walk in the gardens the other day, I was struck by a muse that could not be denied. I would be honoured to share with you, Princess.”

A few days ago, after a particularly unfruitful session of prayer, Zelda took a walk through the royal gardens. Trailed by her loyal knight attendant, of course. Kayou found them there and kept her amused with lovely stories of dragons and princes and other such fanciful things.

Link was particularly agitated that day. She noticed it in the way his long fingers flexed on the handle of the sword and in the tension he held in his shoulders. His eyes kept flitting between her and the sky. He was probably worried that it was going to rain. Every time he glanced up, she was afforded a generous view of his neck, where his pulse jumped against his skin. Bizarrely, she wondered what it would be like to press her lips to that spot—what he would taste like. She shoved the thought away.

At length, Link interjected, rudely interrupting Kayou mid-story to usher them inside. He guided Zelda back into the castle with a hand on the small of her back. The warmth of his palm through the fabric of her gown spread sparks across her skin. As they stepped through the door, she turned to meet his gaze and the intensity in his blue eyes shot a rush of heat to her core, momentarily stunning her. _By Hylia Zelda, get it together._

A walk in the gardens indeed.

“Princess?” Kayou draws her back into the present. “Shall I sing for you?”

She gives the poet her prettiest smile, nods, and tries not to think of wheat blonde hair and piercing blue eyes.

The court poet flashes her a winning smile and picks up his lute. He strums as his voice begins to fill the room. The melody is bright and sweet. Zelda flutters her eyes shut to immerse herself in the song.

_“…then I must feel the wind that sweeps the breeze, eyes green like grass after fresh rain gives heed, to my princess of warmth and kindness be, and—”_

“That’s ridiculous,” Link’s voice cuts in and Zelda opens her eyes in surprise.

Kayou makes an offended noise. “Excuse me, knight, but I was singing for the princess.”

Link shifts his weight, seeming to regret speaking up. He meets her eyes briefly before his gaze settles somewhere slightly behind her.

“Well?” she asks him. “What was so ridiculous that you felt the need to interrupt?”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond. She’s about to prod him again, when he coughs and says, “Your eyes aren’t green like grass after fresh rain.”

She is stunned into silence. Kayou openly gapes at Link.

Link uses the pause to forge on, “They’re green like the shallows of the Lurelin Sea after a storm, or green like the nighttime glow of Luminous Stones in Zora’s Domain,” his eyes dart to meet hers and away. “Not like grass.” 

Zelda blinks.

Then, all at once, blood rushes to her face and she can feel her cheeks and the tips of her ears redden in a most unprincess-like manner. What does that even _mean_? What did he _mean_ by describing her eyes like that? How does he even _know_ enough about the colour of her eyes to make such ridiculous and frivolous and poetic analogies?

Vaguely, she hears Kayou say something in response, but her mind is buzzing too much for her to understand.

It’s not as though she thinks about the colour of his eyes. Not as though she thinks his eyes are blue like the sky over Rito Village on a crisp spring day or blue like the lights on ancient guardians waiting to be discovered or blue like—

Zelda stands abruptly and there is silence in the library. She is acutely aware of two pairs of eyes watching her, red and _blue_.

“Princess?” Kayou murmurs. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, but I—” she’s strangely breathless, “I need to—ah, I just need a moment.”

She makes her way to the door with as much poise as she can, steadfastly ignoring the knight stationed in front of it. Before she passes him, she peeks at his face. His expression is concerned, his blue, blue, _blue_ eyes are near glowing as he studies her.

He takes a step forward and cups her elbow in his hand. “Princess, are you unwell?”

Zelda looks down at where he is touching her, the spot seems to radiate warmth. Her eyes glance quickly to his lips and back down, a pang of heat and desire washing over her. _Damn him and his eyes and lips and concern for my wellbeing._

She opens her mouth, not sure what to say but words spill out anyway, “You shouldn’t wear grey: it’s a terrible colour on you and washes you out badly.”

She clamps her mouth shut. Well that was _not_ what she had expected to say.

“Oh.” He seems confused as he takes a step back. “Um...Duly noted. Thank you for your concern, Princess.”

“Right then,” she says, drawing herself away. “V-very good. That will be all.”

Link steps back with a nod and she turns, all but fleeing down the hallway.

He doesn’t wear that awful grey tunic again.


End file.
